Harry Potter and the Princess of Thieves Repost
by EnvidiaEmerald
Summary: Trista Deveroux just wants to get by and live her life, have some fun. She never thought she would partake in the Harry Potter's quest to destroy Voldemort. She also never expect to change so profoundly and grow up in the process. Join her adventures!
1. Chapter 1

I would like to think that my story is worth hearing. It has some drama, some romance, and plenty of action. It is extraordinary and regular, exciting and frustrating all at once.

To tell my own story, I will first have to endeavor and tell the story of my grandmother, a truly exceptional woman. She was born in 1511 and officially died in 1534. As you might have guessed from the use of the word "officially", my grandmother's death in 1534 was not final.

The exact circumstances of her transformation remain a mystery, for although she became vampire, she was never an ordinary one.

Never one to be an ordinary anything, Carmilla was far removed from the common vampire. Commonplace vampires have no real will or self control, they lust after blood as any other animal. Regular vampires no longer experience human emotions, like love and being undead, they are incapable of reproducing. I am living proof, therefore, they Carmilla was no such creature.

Her human emotions, in fact, were her downfall. Before we get to that part of the story, permit me to explain who my grandma Carmilla was. Most muggles have, no doubt, heard of Count Dracula, from the Stoker novel. Well, Carmilla was the real Dracula: deadly, powerful and infamous in the wizarding world. For centuries, she eluded the authorities and avoided capture.

In 1812, Carmilla met the most powerful dark sorcerer of the age, Mortimer Laverne. Over a century later, in 1954, they had a daughter, my mother, Juliana. Despite what one might expect of the daughter of two arch-villain-evil masterminds, Juliana Laverne was sweet and kind, so much so that she became estranged from her parents and married into an average wizarding family when she was 20.

In 1980, Juliana and Matthias Deveroux had a daughter. They named her Trista. That baby girl, you guessed it, is me. The Deverouxs' bliss, however, did not last for long.

But a few months after my birth, a group of wizards calling themselves " the Death Eaters" who were lead by a "Lord Voldemort" began pursuing my family. You see, they believed in preserving the purity of wizarding blood, and so would not see vampires and wizards mix.

Grandfather Mortimer was the first to fall. Carmilla was next. Despite their estrangement, Carmilla lead the Death Eaters away from her daughter and son-in-law, hoping that they will be able to escape. They did not. By 1982, my entire family was gone.

As my father's parents died long years before he had even met my mother, I had no family left to tend to me. However, my parents did make some arrangements for me to be looked after. My father's family was exceedingly wealthy, and so, before their capture and death, my parents left me with a random couple who agreed to care for me in favor of a considerable sum of money.

The Brettons were a nice enough couple. They fed me, gave me shelter and clothing. Neither Jon nor Alyssa were ever cruel or abusive, nor were they doting surrogates. They simply gave me what I needed and made sure I was ok. I have no complaint against them, nor do I feel sorry for myself for not having growing up without my a true family.

Of course, I am human (well, partially) and I do have feelings. Thus, I naturally slip into melancholy every so often and image what could have been. Overall, however, I did not have an awful childhood and I have accepted what happened. You see, I am a firm believed in "c'est la vie", it is what it is.

Anyway, now that I have indulged in a detailed family history, allow me to reintroduce myself.

I am Trista Ann Deveroux of Devonshire. Yeah, funny, I know. I have long brown hair, which I scarcely tend to, brown eyes and fair skin. I am rather tall and thin, not as a stick, but thin. I guess you could say I am pretty, not beautiful or exotic, but pretty, kind of. My boobs are small though, and because I am tall my feet are abnormally large for a girl, not that I care. To be honest, I do not really care that much about my looks. I mean, I make myself presentable, but I am not one to go crazy over makeup and such, it's just not me.

I suppose you could call me a tomboy, call me that if it pleases you. Other than being a "tomboy", I am adventurous, a free spirit and at times a grouch. I am not the sentimental or clingy type, never was, never will be.

Being the aloof, free spirited individual that I am, it should not come as a surprise that I left the Brettons' home when I was fourteen. Again, I was not miserable there, but I needed excitement and adventure, not something commonly found in a little village in Devonshire.

A letter I had gotten from my parents stated that the old family estate was mine, so I set my sights towards (?), where it stands. Naturally, my parents only intended for me to move in when I came of age, but, what can I say? I need my space.

If you're wondering how it is that I was not at Hogwarts, being a part-witch at fourteen, allow me to enlighten you- I refused to go. Whereas most normal eleven-year-old witches and wizards are excited about Hogwarts, I saw it as a prison. As they did not particularly care to convince me otherwise, Jon and Alyssa allowed me to stay at home.

Anyway, getting to my family's house was really quite simple. Since I had plenty of extra time on my hands, I learned the muggle ways. Therefore, rather than trying to use magic and get caught, I hopped the first bus I could find and got to (?).

That was the first step of my journey.


	2. Chapter 2

When I first found the exact address of my new residence, I have to say, I was not impressed at all. The place looked as though it was about to fall apart or cave in any minute. I thought to myself: Trista, you moron, no one was maintaining this place for over a decade! Of course, one would still not expect it to be in such shambles.

Of course, when I entered I had another thing coming…

Inside, the place was incredible! I love magic! It was the most exciting thing that happened to me since… well, ever. Immediately, I went around exploring. The house must have over twenty rooms, several bathrooms; antique furniture… the coolest thing was definitely the family portraits. There was one of my paternal great, great, great grandfather from France, Francois Pierre Deveroux. Good looking bloke, if I may say so myself.

The most interesting discovery I made, however, was a letter to me from my grandmother. I found it in a dresser that I am almost certain was mother's. the letter was short and to the point, just like something I would write.

_Granddaughter Trista, _

_How unfortunate that we shall never meet, it is my greatest regret._

_I have left you a gift, a wand made especially for you. _

_You will find it under the rose. _

_Use it well and do me proud. _

_CL._

You see, after grandpa Mortimer was killed, granny Carmilla went a little soft, at least so my mother claimed in her last letter and the evidence seems to agree. She came to this very house to try and reconcile with my mother. According to mother, she apologized for not being a better person, a better mother. She wanted to make up for it by getting the people who were persecuting us to follow her trail and make them chase her for as long as she could hold out, so that my parents might escape and her little granddaughter be spared.

She managed to keep them away for a shorter time than she herself had expected, and they swiftly got on my parents' trail. Well, you know the rest.

Whatever, what I had to do next was find this mystery gift my grandmother had bestowed upon me. of course, there was not a single rose to be found near the house, as there was no garden. This didn't really surprise me, as I expected this was some sort of clue, so I kept on exploring. Finally, a few days after I found the letter, I found a wooden chest hidden in one of the rooms.

Not too shockingly, the chest had a yellow rose painted on its façade. This has no significance that I know of, the yellow rose isn't our family crest or anything. I suspect this was merely a random storage vessel for Carmilla, a convenient way to hide something.

Inside this chest, was a true treasure. I looked with awe at the object in front of me, and gently took it in my hands. At last, I had a wand to call my own!

And it was no ordinary wand. Next to it was another note from grandma Carmilla, telling me that it was forged of the rare ivy wood and her right fang by a reclusive wand-maker who resides in the Carpathians. Honestly, it was the coolest thing I had ever laid eyes on… and it was all mine.

My next step was to learn some practical magic. At my disposal I had a vast library, full of books on subject ever discussed in the wizarding world. How did I manage to perform magic as a minor without appearing on the ministry's radar? My new home was protected by so many charms and was an inactive spot for so long, that the ministry never even bothered to look.

Anyway, I studied everything I could handle myself. I could not really do too much about potions since I had no access to materials, but I learned charms, transfiguration, and even endeavored in the dark arts and defense of them. You see, I needed magic to do what I wanted to do next.

As I mentioned before, I am a lover of adventure. I live for a good thrill. And who can blame me? I mean, we only live once. So, as I was saying, I was looking to find a new and exciting hobby. Something that would challenge me and allow me to use all my new skills. Thus, I chose the life of a professional criminal, a mastermind thief.

Not that I needed the money, I had plenty to spare. But you see, a life of crime is exhilarating, it made my blood rush and gave me that thrill I was looking for.

At first, I picked small, insignificant targets near my home for practice. Gradually, I moved up. In a few months, I was not even fourteen and a half, I was breaking into important muggle sites. I stole from the British Museum, the Louvre, and private collections. I stole jewelry, artworks, and antiques, and never came close to capture.

At this point, I was on the ministry's radar.

They called me "The Raven" in the Daily Prophet, or so I was told later. Creative, I know.

I would have continued to avoid capture, I believe, had I not made one fatal mistake. One stupid, dumb, ludicrous move brought me down.

I was nearing my fifteenth birthday and wanted to celebrate the occasion by committing the ultimate crime. Break into a place no one ever managed to penetrate. I wanted to rob Gringots Bank.


End file.
